Laminated with Love
by pancakesareking
Summary: Slash[Greg Hodges] It's a little bit about death threats, a little bit about stitches, and a little bit about love. [Two part story.]
1. Chapter 1

Hey. _Hey_. **Hey**. I'm back.

**Title:** Laminated with Love

**Pairing:** David Hodges+ Greg Sanders 4-ever

**Summary:** It involves death threats, stitches, and a little bit of love.

**Authors Notes:** This is something I haven't done before, and I don't know how I feel about it. Also, I know things in this are completely against protocol and I'm honestly making shit up as I go, so don't think I'm an idiot, because I didn't think this through, so it has no bearing on my mental capacity.

This is a two part story, so enjoy this first part; I don't know when I'll be done with the second.

**Laminated with Love**

Most of it started when someone made a threat on Hodges life.

He didn't tell anyone, because a) he didn't take it seriously and b) he worked in a _crime lab_. The only thing that bothered him was that the note was laminated, as if it were something to hang on a fridge. So really, that's what he did. He pulled his ugliest, strongest magnet from the side of the fridge and stuck smack dab in the middle of the door.

He kept coupons under the same magnet, so it was easy to forget about until he went grocery shopping, which only happened once every two weeks.

In essence, he didn't really remember it ever happened.

Until a Nerf dart sailed through the window and hit a picture of him with his mother four weeks later. It was his favorite one, too, because he thought he looked damn good in it. He still didn't want to make a fuss about it, so he heaved a suffering sigh and went to find something to cover the window with.

He had an extra sheet in his closet, and some thumb tacks in the kitchen, so he went to work. He was on the top left hand corner, having pinned the top right hand corner, when someone knocked at his door. He wondered if maybe someone from Home Depot lived in his apartment building and had come to save him. Unfortunately, he had no such luck, and ended up welcoming Captain Brass into his apartment.

He meant to say hi, but ended up saying, "I haven't gotten a chance to clean yet. What are you doing here?"

Brass shook his head. "Your neighbor, who failed to mention she was seventy-six, said she saw an arrow shatter your living room window."

"No, just a Nerf Dart. Probably just some kids." Hodges shrugged and went back to tacking the sheet over the window.

"Hodges," Brass said slowly, "You realize you're living in what might as well be an old folk's community, right?"

"A lot of people around here have grand kids," Hodges said defensively.

"Yeah, and kids would much rather be outside playing than on a computer."

Hodges didn't reply, thinking maybe sarcasm wouldn't be the best thing to throw at someone who skipped through cases holding hands with Grissom. He also didn't notice Hodges had wandered into the kitchen area, which was what he like to think a stylish addition to the living room.

"Hodges, is this a death threat?"

"Nope, it's a birthday card from my mother."

"Does she usually say, 'I will kill you, you piece of shit?'"

Hodges started for the lower corners of the sheets. "She has quite a way with words."

"Have you mentioned this to Grissom? And why is it laminated?"

Hodges couldn't decide between the red thumb tack and the white thumb tack.

Brass didn't say much more, until, "Yeah, Grissom, we got a death threat and a broken window for your boy Hodges." He paused. "Yeah, he said it's from his mother." There were a few beats of silence, after which Brass laughed. "I'm sure he'll love that."

And then the phone clicked.

"He had a poetic mom too, huh?"

"Better. Greg is being assigned the case."

"_Sanders_? But this isn't a crime scene!"

Brass's eyes burned into Hodges back. "We've got a death threat, a broken window, and a very well aimed Nerf dart that happened to cover your face in the photo."

When he turned to look, Hodges noticed that wow, yeah, the guy had good aim. Or maybe it was a woman. His ex-wife had been so good at throwing valuable belongings at his head.

"But still, Sanders is hardly qualified to handle a case on his own!"

"He's been good as a CSI, and this is hardly a case."

"Then why are you making such a big deal?" Brass sighed. "I'm leaving, Greg will be here soon. I'm expecting you to file a report, through Grissom."

Before Hodges could offer a reply, Brass was gone, leaving him alone and in dire need of a vacuum cleaner. Of course, he'd have to leave it for evidence.

Twenty minutes later he was watching television and sporting a very large bowl of popcorn. He wasn't really enjoying his day off, to be honest, and couldn't help but feel a little bit sour when someone began knocking on his door again.

He answered it with as little flair as possible, hoping his face showed how not in a good mood he was.

Greg didn't notice.

Greg _never_ noticed.

But Greg looked a hell of a lot surprised. "Hodges? They've got you on the scene?"

Hodges was floored. "This is my apartment."

Greg turned white-ish. "Is Grissom trying to set us up?"

"Well, yes. Only, I couldn't find the candles or the champagne, so you'll have to live with a broken window and a death threat."

"Mm. Oh." Greg regained his color, with a little rid tinge to his face. Then he laughed. "Damn, I can't believe no one has ever given you a death threat before."

"Oh, they have, this is just the first time someone has tried to take me out with a Nerf dart." Hodges looked Greg over as he spoke, noting his Structure style clothing and nicely combed hair. "I'm sure it was just some kids, though."

"Dude, you're like the only person under fifty here."

"Low crime rate," Hodges automatically said.

"Not anymore. So why didn't you just process the threat yourself, and have it taken care of?"

"Because no one takes a laminated death threat seriously."

Greg blinked several times. "It's laminated?" His eyebrows bunched together.

It was actually kind of cute, but Hodges totally didn't notice. "No prints, no distinguishing characteristics to determine the writer's gender, age, or origin."

He went to fetch the note from his fridge, but paused halfway taking it down. His eyes narrowed, and he walked back to Greg, who was starting to take pieces of glass for evidence. "Was it you?" He asked shortly.

"Me what?"

"Did you write me a death threat as some sort of joke?"

"No!" Greg looked completely confused, and a little bit hurt by the accusation. As he lifted another piece of glass, it slipped from the tweezers and he very stupidly caught it.

And got blood on Hodges nice, clean carpet.

"Shit!" He looked up at Hodges, then to his kit, then back to Hodges again. "Do you have something?"

"Uh," Hodges said, taken by surprise. He could only watch as the blood dripped from Greg's clenched fist and think, 'Oh God, I did that, that was my fault.' "Yes?"

He walked off stiffly, through his bedroom and into the bathroom, grabbing a hand towel and some peroxide. When he turned around, Greg had wandered into his room, holding his hand to his chest soblood wouldn't fall on the floor.

"Sit," Hodges commanded, and Greg followed through without a word (just a really nasty look). "Okay, hand."

Greg looked around. "But—"

"Just hold out you hand!"

He did as he was told, and when he unclenched his fist, blood was all over his hand, like a little kid who was going to make a hand print on the wall. The first thing he did was take off the glove, trying to ignore Greg's little hisses as it rolled over his fingers. The first three were cut, pretty badly, with a small cut on his thumb.

Hodges unscrewed the bottle of peroxide.

"It's going to make a mess," Greg argued weakly.

"Okay, okay, Miss Sanders, follow me to the bathroom." He pulled Greg up by his good hand, bravely not looking at the blood trail. Once Greg's hand was over the sink, he did his best not to take pleasure in the way Greg let out one huge, high pitched gasp.

He wrapped the towel tightly around Greg's hand. "Before I take you to the hospital," Hodges said slowly, "how do you spell piece?"

Greg took on the deer in the headlights expression, mouth moving soundlessly. "What the—"

"Be a good boy and tell me how piece, as in piece of pie, is spelled."

"Uh, um, p-e-i-c-e. Or wait, maybe its p-i-e-c-e. I don't know," he whined miserably.

"You passed."

"Hoorah," Greg said, rolling his eyes. "Now can I go get some stitches?"

"First, I have to call Grissom."

Greg made a low sound in his throat. "You couldn't have done that when the glass went _into my hand_?"

"No, I couldn't."

Surprisingly, the younger man deflated and collapsed back on the bed.

Grissom was there in exactly ten minutes, and when Hodges opened the door with a 'Mi casa es su casa' in mind, was greeted with a breathy, "Where's Greg?"

"In my bed."

Grissom nodded as if that was a perfectly reasonable answer. Like yeah, hey, every time someone came to inspect his house, Hodges got them into bed within an hour.

"Look," Hodges said, "I've got to get him to the hospital; can you lock the door behind you?"

The look he received was a blaring, 'well no fucking duh.'

The doctor was sort of sympathetic, humming in a soft tone as he shooed off Greg, pausing to tell Hodges the anesthetic he'd injected at Greg's request was going to last a while, and that Mr. Sanders was not going to be able to chop vegetables for a few days.

Something about post traumatic stress.

The only thing Hodges could think was that he needed to be out of the hospital, and he pried Greg's death grip from his wrist and shooed him towards the parking lot.

Hodges felt chivalrous when he opened the door for Greg, and parental when he helped Greg into the car. "I really am fine," Greg insisted. "I'm barely numb. And I'm not even—"

His eyes fluttered shut and his head rolled onto Hodges chest, which made it very hard to buckle the seatbelt, but cops were very easy to come by in Vegas, so he pretended Greg was a crash course dummy. Which really meant he was rough.

As he maneuvered his hand back around Greg, Hodges fingers skimmed over Greg's hair, which was really, really soft. He didn't see the harm in running his hands through it, watching the gold and brown tufts fall through his fingers.

He jumped like hell when Greg mumbled, "Huh?"

"You had something in your hair," Hodges muttered stupidly.

Greg smiled slowly, and his eyelids fluttered once more, but didn't open. "Must have been a big something," he murmured.

"Huge," Hodges muttered. He turned around, but stopped short, eyes growing huge. He couldn't breath.

"You had something on your ass," Greg said simply.

Hodges took a deep breath and blamed it on the meds. Or, he figured, four stitches to a finger could do that to a man.

He shut Greg's door softly and walked around the car, feeling completely dazed. And as he started the car, and pulled out of the hospital, he found himself wishing that Greg would not remember a single thing.

And then he prayed that he would forget it as well.

There were three cops on the way back to Hodges' place, all going slowly enough to make him feel as if he was speeding, which in turn made him slow down, which, in the end, just made the ride five minutes longer.

The unconscious passenger was completely silent, which seemed like a Godsend until they were back at the apartment complex. Hodges had no idea what to do, since Greg wouldn't wake up.

He would not wake the fuck up, and it was getting late. Two hours of waiting, and one of surgery, and Hodges was ready to call it a night. He supposed he could leave Greg in the car, but that would be mean even for him. And maybe it wasn't nice, but Hodges woke up Greg the only way he knew how.

He poked Greg's hand.

Hard.

"Mother fucker!"

"Come on, Sanders, this is your wake up call. We're back at my place, you can go home now."

Red rimmed eyes opened to him, and really, it just brought out the green in Greg's eyes. "The doctor said I shouldn't drive tonight."

Hodges glared. "I've gotten stitches before, and I could drive just fine."

"Wasn't that the week your car got totaled?"

"That's never happened."

"It seemed like a viable point anyway."

"You don't get my bed."

Greg huffed and cried, "I just got stitches!"

"I don't care if Gandhi pulled brass knuckles on you. The bed is mine."

"Rock paper scissors?" Greg asked hopefully.

"Fine."

There was a very pregnant pause at that. Greg grinned wolfishly, his teeth flashing in an attractive but slightly scary way. "Okay. Here we go. Rock, paper, scissors."

Greg chose paper, and Hodges chose rock. He was floored.

Greg was also howling with laughter. "I have four stitches in three of my fingers, how was I going to do scissors or rock?"

One thought occurred to Hodges; not even a laminated death threat could make him feel stupider.

-End part 1 of 2-

Tell what you think so far, if I should even continue this.

Bon voyage for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dedication:** This is for Sele, because I feel like it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI. That's all Jerry. And man am I jealous.

Swimming in the heavy water  
Buried in the sand  
Happy hearts fall from my stupid hands  
I can't hide my sexual life  
My sexual life-Everclear, "My Sexual Life"

When Hodges stumbled into his kitchen the following morning, he made a tactical error. Because he was wiping the sleep from his eyes, he hadn't noticed he padded right between Greg and his obvious path towards the coffee maker. While he was drinking the milk from the carton, he also missed Greg's glare of complete and utter hatred.

"You just…"

"Went in my bedroom, only to find drool on my most used pillow." Hodges narrowed his already half closed eyes.

"That is not drool!" Greg grabbed the coffee before Hodges could intervene. "I probably spit on it in my sleep to spite you! And you milk mustache looks ridiculous."

Hodges pulled up his shirt and wiped at his mouth, completely ignored Greg, whose eyes trailed over his stomach. "You didn't seem that spiteful when you grabbed my ass last night."

Coffee splattered on the floor as Greg tripped. Hodges added spilt coffee to the mess he needed to clean up. It was hard enough sleeping on his couch when Grissom had police taped a small portion of his living room. Now he had to maneuver around the hot beverage to clean up the attempted hit on his life.

Perfect.

"I hope that was a joke," Greg moaned. He looked pale, like he had the day before when Hodges answered the door.

"I don't joke before I have coffee. And now I'm going to have to lick it off of my floor."

It must have looked ridiculous, Hodges thought, these two men standing in a kitchen, one with gloriously mussed hair and striped boxers—and a completely stolen bath robe from Hodges bathroom—and the other in socks, boxers, and a sad white shirt. The coffee between them was like some mocking metaphor, like a little lake or something.

Greg appeared more or less befuddled beyond repair. "I grabbed your ass?"

"Maybe it was friendly pat on the butt between coworkers, but I'm sure there was some grab action."

"Was I at least suave about it?" Greg

Hodges allowed a small smile. "I couldn't have asked for a better come on."

Greg set the remaining coffee on the table, wishing he had a straw or something as he had no clue where Hodges kept the cups. "Wait, so it wasn't just a squeeze, it was a full on come on?" Greg asked pitifully.

"You had something on your ass," Hodges slurred, and added a wink.

Greg whistled. "That's one I save for someone special."

It was sad, how Hodges held out his arms in welcome, or a prayer for a lightning strike, and droned, "I guess that makes me the most special man on earth, because that wink was magical."

"I don't want to have this conversation," Greg said quickly. The pallor was gone, escalating to a pink haze in both cheeks. Hodges almost took pity on him.

"And I thought our relationship was going to be about sharing," Hodges murmured.

In a Batman-esque move, Greg whirled around, the borrowed bathroom swinging wildly like a cape, and stomped out of the kitchen.

"I'm not letting you off the hook for drooling on my pillow," Hodges called after him.

Once the bedroom door slammed, Hodges sighed. He wasn't in the mood for coffee at this point, because he was too tired to drink it. And it was on his floor, which seemed like some sort of encouragement.

Which maybe meant he really needed that coffee, but he went to his room instead to cajole Greg.

Only, when he opened the door, Greg was once more sound asleep in his bed, blankets pulled to his chin as if he'd never been awake at all. Hodges wondered if he had imagined the whole scene in the kitchen, but when he got closer, he could see that Greg's lips were fit in a pout, while the rest of his face was relaxed.

Also, those pouting lips were parted, a small wet spot forming on the pillow beneath them.

He thought seriously about waking Greg up, and honestly, the younger man had been awake two minutes ago, which was pure insanity. Hodges didn't understand how a simple lack of coffee could knock out Greg.

Considering a shower, Hodges sat on the foot of the bed to remove his socks.

The ball of his foot was a centimeter above the floor when he passed out.

---

Greg awoke to cold legs and a deliciously warm stomach. He still felt groggy, but more awake then he had been, if he had even been awake before. Only, the bandages on his hand were stained with drops of coffee.

The robe he'd taken from Hodges bathroom was big, red, and what seemed to be terry cloth. He could imagine Hodges in it, sitting behind a desk with a pipe, narrating some Sherlock Holmes story.

It was a really cute thought.

The blankets he'd previously covered himself with were pulled half off his body, which he figured to be from moving around. Only, when he actually opened his eyes to the dim lighting in the room, he saw a very clear lump under the blankets, which curved around the head that was on his stomach.

Hodges was blessed, obviously, because he was both silent and equipped with a dry mouth. With that thought, Greg took Hodges pillow and scrubbed at it with the robe before flipping it over. No harm, no foul.

Greg rested his head on the dry side of the pillow and watched Hodges. It was a rattling series of events—coming to Hodges place, cutting his hand, getting drugged, _grabbing Hodges ass_. He was sure the other man could tell by now he was crushing pretty hard. And really, why the hell?

He was strangely good-looking, in the way you would need to double check in a crowd to make sure you thought some guy was cute or not. Also, he had the attitudinal problem, but he was quick, and sharp, very easy to get used to, but somehow still surprising at times.

And it didn't feel out of place at all to watch this man, whom he saw every day and bantered with every chance he got, sleeping on his stomach.

In fact, it felt _right_.

Just as Greg was reaching out to touch Hodges face—he had to touch those lips—however, the phone rang.

Loudly.

Greg jumped, and evoked a moan from Hodges. Quickly, he located the phone and pulled it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Greg?"

Greg coughed. "Sara?"

On the other end, Sara could be heard clearing her throat. "Sorry, I was trying to call Hodges about his case, and you two are alphabetically together in my phone."

"No, uh, you got Hodges' house."

Silence reigned over the telephone.

"I cut my hand," he blurted.

"I don't—does Grissom know about this?"

"It was his idea. Ooh, I got stitches."

Greg's stomach became cold when Hodges lifted his head and said, "What the hell?"

"Uh, Sara, I have to—"

"You drooled on my pillow!"

Greg ignored the phone call to defend himself. "I did not! It's perfectly dry!"

Hodges shoved a baleful finger into Greg's face. "You flipped it over!"

"Look," Greg snapped, "I'm on the phone, so shut up."

Hodges wiggled, cocoon of blankets and all, until he was lying half on top of Greg. "Who is it? It's my phone, idiot."

"It's just Sara."

Sara's hum echoed in the receiver.

Two gropes proved successful enough for Hodges to yank the phone away from his bedmate and hold it in a death grip by his ear.

Greg was horrified.

"Hello? No, no. Yeah, he drools. No coffee yet, so come some other time. I already know who did it anyway. What do you mean, withholding information? I obtained the information roughly an hour ago. Spilt coffee. Of course I didn't cry; that's not even how the idiom goes. Well, call me back in another hour, when your evidence is done. We'll compare and contrast. Bye."

The phone was not so carefully slammed back down.

Hodges leveled a sleepy gaze at Greg, who silently returned it. And for no apparent reason, Hodges leaned forward and kissed Greg softly on the lips. It wasn't so much a kiss as it was two mouths pressed together, so Greg moved forward marginally to rectify the situation.

It worked stupendously. Hodges braced himself on one arm over Greg's chest, his other hand stroking Greg's hair, which seemed familiar, for some reason. His mouth moved again Hodges slowly, with that morning daze, and a hint of morning breath, but Greg always believed enough contact could get rid of the taste.

He stared into Hodges' eyes, which were half lidded, as he ran his tongue over Hodge's lips.

Hodges merely smiled goofily and ran his tongue down Greg's neck. Then he pulled back to yawn.

In a sort of stupor, Greg could only watch as Hodges huffed, plopped his head on Greg's chest, and drifted right back into sleep.

Only, before his breathing slowed, he murmured, "Now everyone's going to know we're sleeping together."

When Greg thought he was actually asleep, Hodges added, "And that you drool."

Greg himself was close to unconsciousness, but something was still nagging at him. "Wait, Hodges."

"No oral before coffee."

Greg choked back a moan, because really, where did that _come_ from? "Actually, you said you knew who sent the death threat. So who was it?"

"Oh. My ex wife. Before, in the kitchen, I saw the calendar I keep on my fridge and realized I forgot to pay her alimony. It happens."

Greg could only manage slight incredulity as he drifted back into sleep, his fingers entwined with Hodges.

Of course, the whole lamination thing still boggled his mind, but he was content to wait until after several cups of coffee to dwell on it.

-El End-

Oh snap, I bet no one expected that kind of ending. It's fucking almost 1 am, and I was to read my pre-bedtime novel. Of course, now I can sleep to the lovely image of Hodges and Greg making out. Oh, yeah.

Shit, and sorry for this impromptu ending. College is for serious killing me, but I think I might live through it. I've been putting off finishing this for so long, now it can finally be done and I can work on several ideas stewing in my brain. This whole thing is unedited, because I just now wrote the whole part two in one sitting.

Sweet!

Review me, because if you don't, I will send a dart through your window.


End file.
